A Court for Thieves. Морган Райс
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should have felt safe, but the truth was that this was the queen of the kingdom, and Sebastian’s mother, and Angelica had done too much in her life to ever feel certain that she would avoid disapproval. Still, she walked forward, forcing herself to project a carefully crafted mask of confidence.
She had never had cause to be in the Dowager’s private chambers before. To be honest, they were something of a disappointment, designed with a kind of plain grandeur that was at least twenty years out of date. There was too much dark wood paneling for Angelica’s tastes, and while the gilt and silks of the rest of the palace were present in patches, it was still nowhere near the extravagance Angelica might have chosen.
“You were expecting something more elaborate, my dear?” the Dowager asked. She was seated by a window that looked out over the gardens, on a chair of dark wood and green leather. A marquetry table stood between her and another, only subtly less tall, seat. She was wearing a relatively simple day dress rather than full finery, and a circlet in place of a full crown, but there was still no doubt about the older woman’s authority.
Angelica dropped into a curtsey. A proper court curtsey, not one of the simple things a servant might have bothered with. Even in something like this, the subtle gradations of status mattered. The seconds dragged out as Angelica waited for permission to rise.
“Please join me, Angelica,” the Dowager said. “That is what you prefer to be called, isn’t it?”
“Yes, your majesty.” Angelica suspected that she knew very well what she ought to be called. She also noted that there was no corresponding suggestion of informality on the part of Sebastian’s mother.
Still, she was pleasant enough, offering a raspberry tisane from a pot that had obviously been freshly brewed and serving Angelica a slice of fruited cake with her own delicately gloved hand.
“How is your father, Angelica?” she asked. “Lord Robert was always loyal to my husband when he lived. Is his breathing still poor?”
“It benefits from the country air, your majesty,” Angelica said, thinking of the sprawling estates she was only too happy to stay away from. “Although he no longer rides to the hunt as much as he did.”
“The young men ride in the vanguard of the hunt,” the Dowager said, “while more sensible souls wait behind and take things at a pace to suit them. When I have attended hunts, it has been with a falcon, not a pack of charging hounds. They are less reckless, and they see more.”
“A fine choice, your majesty,” Angelica said.
“And your mother, does she continue to cultivate her flowers?” the Dowager asked, sipping her drink. “I have always envied her the star tulips she produces.”
“I believe she is working on a new variety, your majesty.”
“Splicing together lines, no doubt,” the Dowager mused, setting her cup down.
Angelica found herself wondering at the point of all of this. She sincerely doubted that the kingdom’s ruler had called her here just to discuss minor details of her family’s life. If she ruled, Angelica certainly wouldn’t care about something so pointless. Angelica barely paid attention when letters came from her parents’ estates.
“Am I boring you, my dear?” the Dowager asked.
“No, of course not, your majesty,” Angelica said hurriedly. Thanks to the civil wars, the days might have gone when the kingdom’s royalty could simply imprison nobles without trial, but it still wasn’t a good idea to risk insulting them.
“Because I was under the impression that you found my family fascinating,” the Dowager continued. “My younger son in particular.”
Angelica froze, unsure what to say next. She should have guessed that a mother would notice her interest in Sebastian. Was that what this was then? A polite suggestion that she should leave him alone?
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Angelica replied, deciding that her best option was to play the part of the coy young noble girl. “Prince Sebastian is obviously very handsome, but – ”
“But your attempt to sedate him and claim him for your own didn’t go as planned?” the Dowager asked, and now there was steel in her voice. “Did you think I wouldn’t hear about that little ploy?”
Now, Angelica could feel the fear inside her building. The Dowager might not simply be able to order her death, but that was what an assault like that on a royal person could mean, even with a trial of her noble peers. Maybe especially with them, since there would undoubtedly be those who wanted to set an example, or get her out of the way, or settle some score with her family.
“Your majesty – ” Angelica began, but the Dowager cut her off with a single raised finger. Instead of speaking, though, she took her time draining her cup, then tossed it into the fireplace, the porcelain shattering with a crack that made Angelica think of breaking bones.
“An attack upon my son is treason,” the Dowager said. “An attempt to manipulate me, and to steal my son into marriage, is treason. Traditionally, that is rewarded by the Mask of Lead.”
Angelica’s gut clenched at the thought of it. It was a horrific punishment from another time, and not one that she’d ever seen enacted. It was said that people killed themselves just at the thought of it.
“Are you familiar with it?” the Dowager asked. “The traitor is encased in a metal mask, and molten lead is poured inside. A terrible death, but sometimes terror is useful. And, of course, it allows for a cast of their face to be taken and displayed for all to see afterwards as a reminder.”
She took something from beside her chair. It looked like just one of the many masks that were always around the court with the worship of the Masked Goddess. This one could have been the impression of a face though. A terrified, agonized face.
“Allan of Courcer decided to rise against the crown,” the Dowager said. “We hanged most of his men cleanly, but with him, we made an example. I still remember the screams. It’s funny how these things linger.”
Angelica fell from her chair to her knees almost bonelessly, looking up at the other woman.
“Please, your majesty,” she begged, because right then, begging seemed like her only option. “Please, I’ll do anything.”
“Anything?” the Dowager said. “Anything is a big word. What if I wanted you to hand over your family lands, or serve as a spy in the courts of this New Army that seems to be coming out of the continental wars? What if I decided that you should go and serve your penance in one of the Far Colonies?”
Angelica looked at that terrified death mask, and knew that there was only one answer.
“Anything, your majesty. Just please, not that.”
She hated being like this. She was one of the foremost nobles in the land, yet here and now she felt as helpless as the lowest cottar.
“What about if I wanted you to marry my son?” the Dowager asked.
Angelica stared at her blankly, the words making no sense. If the other woman had said that she was giving her a chest of gold and sending her on her way it would have made more sense than this did.
“Your majesty?”
“Don’t just kneel there opening and closing your mouth like a fish,” the other woman said. “In fact, sit back down. At least try to look like the sort of refined young lady my son should be marrying.”
Angelica forced herself back into her chair. Even so, she felt faint. “I’m not sure I understand.”
The Dowager steepled her fingers. “There is little enough to understand. I am in need of someone suitable to marry my son. You are beautiful enough, from a family of sufficient standing, well connected at court, and it seems obvious enough from your little plot that you are interested in the role. It is an arrangement that seems highly beneficial to all concerned, wouldn’t you agree?”
Angelica managed to collect herself a little. “Yes, your majesty. But – ”
“It